


black holes and solar flares

by skullduggery



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: M/M, ft. lots of worldbuilding, old married couple talks through their problems, that's it they just love each other a lot ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9108580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skullduggery/pseuds/skullduggery
Summary: For years, Baze and Chirrut have been travelling the galaxy chasing odd jobs, but the Force won't let them turn their backs on the Rebellion. It's time for the last Guardians to come out of hiding and fight.[When completed, this will run tangential to canon right up to Scarif.]





	1. stargazing

When Baze walked through the door, death followed at his heels like the hungry strays that used to hang around the Temple. When his body let out a soft _thud_ as it dropped into one of two seats at the kitchen island, death sighed softly and curled up on his lap. Every time Baze secured a new target, it was as though every blood-starved shadow flocked to him, waiting for scraps. They would gather thick as thunderheads, suffocating and staining, until the killing was done and they’d had their fill. Baze didn’t seem to notice or mind.

“Aaah,” Chirrut sighed. “You found work, then?”

Baze just grunted in assent, used to these impossible observations. Chirrut had heard him pouring himself a glass of water, and he gulped it down now, pausing only to catch his breath.

Chirrut felt a tickle in his throat and was unsurprised when Baze cleared his own with something not quite a cough. The rooms they were staying in were clean, but dusty. Below, he could hear the shuffle of daily life from the Coruscanti family who’d allowed them to hole up here. Loss clung to the place almost thicker than dust, lending the blank walls a silence that was almost reverent.

The Empire, as it so often did, had taken something vital from this father to pay for his children’s safety and education in the city, and Chirrut got the impression that he and Baze were the first to set foot up here in his wife’s study after her disappearance. Downstairs, one of his eldest was shouting for help figuring out why the heater wasn’t working.

Baze stood up with a grunt of effort, pulling Chirrut from his contemplation. A moment later, he felt a hand on his knee, and the heat of Baze’s large presence close on his left. “It’s an Imperial officer. She wants me to help her secure a promotion for herself.”

Chirrut shook his head and placed a hand on Baze’s forearm. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I gave up pretending to hate your work long ago.”

“I know. I need your help.”

“Now _that_ , I do hate.” Whatever face Chirrut had made, it got a tired chuckle from Baze.

“It’s just recon.”

“Poor blind vagrant begging for change again?”

“Your favorite.”

Their hosts were now rummaging through storage to find the right sized wrench to fix their heater, making a racket that Chirrut felt in his feet. The vent overhead huffed quietly as it pushed stale air through the building. He felt himself drifting into daydreams again, lost in a muffed jumble of sensory input that he was too tired to filter out.

“Chirrut…” This time, Baze got his attention with a soft brush of knuckles over his jaw, big callused palm guiding his chin upwards. “What’s weighing on you?”

Chirrut made the same face again, scrunching his nose up and inhaling deeply. Something was indeed heavy in the Force today, but it wasn’t something to be talked about lightly. “Take your armor off. I’ll make us tea.”

⊙

Without his cannon weighing him down, Baze felt light as a summer wind. It reminded him of his training days as a Guardian, practicing for hours with weights strapped to his wrists and ankles, using hollow and ill-balanced weapons filled with sand. Even moving through their modest rooms here, maneuvering around the haphazard storage containers they’d been using as furniture, he may as well have been flying.

Chirrut apparently noticed, because he kept smiling to himself, watching without watching in that way he had, one ear cocked to give Baze part of his attention. This deep in Coruscant, you had to treat your own water, as the surface filtration plants were only effective for the first few hundred levels, and the core plants had been operating at half capacity since the fall of the Republic. While the filtration cycle ran, Baze stripped down to his undershirt and rummaged around for his threadbare sweater in their shared mess. Last to go were his heavy boots, which hit the floor hard just as the boiler clicked off.

Chirrut brought the tea tray and Baze got to work running his new client’s contract through their Braille translator, in case Chirrut needed it at some point.

They drank their first cups in silence, Baze cradling his to warm his hands, Chirrut staring into his as if he were watching the steam rise. This was comfortable, familiar. They’d been sharing each other’s conversation over this chipped and discolored tea set longer than they’d been travelling together, longer even than the Empire had existed. Chirrut called it a grounding ritual, to Baze it was simply old habits.

“Are you being paid well for this?” Chirrut finally asked.

“We are. Very. The down payment cleared today.” Baze pushed the contract across the table till it bumped his partner’s wrist. He poured the next round while Chirrut read.

“When will you get the second half?”

“Within twenty-four hours of confirmed death.”

Chirrut snorted and tapped the contract. “I can read, Baze. When will... confirmed death be?”

Though he didn’t press the issue (much to Baze’s gratitude), it was obvious that his (their) current line of work sat less easily with Chirrut than it did Baze. There was always something in his tone when they talked business… not condescension, or even discomfort, just a faint edge of sorrow.

“Three days out at the latest, I’m thinking.”

“Force willing,” Chirrut added.

“Weather permitting,” Baze pressed on, ignoring that. “There’s a hard rain warning this week.” Some species thrived in Coruscanti rain, but humans weren’t one of them, and neither of them had the funds at present for an umbrella strong enough to withstand whatever sludge could be dripping on the lower levels.

Chirrut was quiet, running a thumb around the rim of his cup. At last, he got to the heart of things.

“When you finish this job, we need to return to Jedha. This job will pay for fast passage into the system, and we can hitch from there. Also, I’d like to buy our hosts a new heater for their kindness. If you’re willing.”

Baze suddenly felt cold to his core. “No.”

“What? Baze, you bastard. It’s the middle of winter and they’ve been nothing but good to us.” From his cheeky grin, Baze could tell Chirrut was trying to soften the blow of his first statement, get Baze off his guard by teasing him. It wouldn’t work this time.

“I left Jedha for the last time four years ago. If you want to go back, you go back alone.”

“Baze…” His name came out a sigh from Chirrut’s lips. “The Force is—“

“ _Fuck_ your Force.”

Pursing his lips, Chirrut carried on in a calm, measured tone so different from his usual chatter. He’d been preparing for this conversation all day, no doubt. “The Force is moving, Baze, and it’s moving swiftly. Perhaps for the first time since the Jedi fell, there is momentum in the light, and it’s gathering. We need to be on Jedha right now.”

Baze’s breath felt tight, as if some invisible hand were pressing on his chest, hard. His fingers prickled from the heat of his cup, which he emptied in one swallow in an attempt to loosen some words from his tongue. But they wouldn’t come. Chirrut was always the silvertongue. Chirrut was always the one who knew where to go. And Chirrut’s intuition, though he never bragged about it, was always spot on.

But Baze had made a promise to himself. They had tried to make things work, lone survivors as far as they knew of a battle that had repainted the Temple of the Whills red. They had continued to stand guard, and the Empire had continued to erode Jedha little by little. When they finally bombed the Temple, nearly with them inside it, he had sworn that his boots would never kiss Jedha’s sands again. And even after all this time, there were some wounds that ran too deep to ever touch on again.

Baze stood in one fluid motion and turned to leave. “I need air,” he said curtly, not bothering to hide the tremble in his voice because Chirrut would hear it before he even opened his mouth.

⊙

There was a small balcony, no more than a glorified window seat, which hung out over the edge of their rooms. Below it was a steep drop to a narrow alley, and above was just enough of an overhang from their upstairs neighbor’s slightly larger balcony to shield it from the rain. When Baze stormed off, that was where he went.

Well, perhaps stormed wasn’t the right word. Fled? Baze was terrified, certainly. More scared than Chirrut had sensed him in years, and Baze didn’t spook easily. And he had ample reason to be afraid. In his memory, Jedha had become a place of violence, a graveyard that he carried around in his heart. It wasn’t the occupying forces Baze was afraid of. NiJedha was full of ghosts now, and they vastly outnumbered any Storm Troopers stationed there. But that cold desert moon was still his home— _their_ home, Temple or no. And they were needed there once more.

Chirrut didn’t know why, but he knew it was non-negotiable. The truth often came to him in dreams, echoes of the Force bringing clarity and resolution where his own conscious mind couldn’t, but he very rarely dreamed in pictures. Chirrut had been born blind, so when he dreamed in color, he knew there were much greater powers at work than his own brain sorting through the day. That much, he needed Baze to understand.

After a few minutes, Chirrut began to feel the storm Baze was caught in outside calm down. He gave his partner a few more to gather his composure, then softly padded after him.

Baze was sitting with his knees tucked up to his chest, probably staring at the moldering plascrete façade across the alley. He didn’t look up when Chirrut joined him, just pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, a dead giveaway that he’d been crying, or at least close to it. Chirrut slid down the wall next to him, wrapping one lanky arm around his broad shoulders. He could almost feel the aching imprints Baze’s weapon left on his back.

 _Your weapon is your Force. It never leaves you_ , Baze had once said. _Mine is a bit harder to drag around everywhere._

That had helped Chirrut understand why it was so hard to coax Baze away from his big scary gun for more than a few minutes, and never in public. He would be lost, untethered without the constant weight of the Force on his heart.

“I miss the sunrises most,” Chirrut said at last. “Waiting on the Temple roof in the cold for that first touch of warmth to creep over the horizon. Listening to the Holy City waking up and trying to count all the calls to prayer I heard, all the different languages rising together. I liked how you’d describe the clouds to me.”

Baze sighed and let his head drop between his legs. “I’m not going back, Chirrut,” he mumbled, but there wasn’t much fight to it this time.

“I’m scared, too.” Chirrut shrugged.

Baze shook his head. “I know. It’s not that. I mean, I am, but…”

Chirrut waited while Baze gathered his thoughts, running his fingertips over the frayed edges of one of the many patch jobs Baze had performed on his favorite sweater.  
“They didn’t just kill the Whills. They killed NiJedha’s soul. They’re carving its heart out as we speak, bleeding it dry. I can’t watch that happen twice.”

If he’d been in a snarkier mood, Chirrut would have reminded Baze that he murdered people for a living, but he knew it wasn’t the same. Not by a long shot. He stayed quiet and still, rubbing small circles of warmth into Baze’s shoulder.

“Our time is over, Chirrut. The Jedi are gone. Soon, we’ll be gone. The Force will have to find new people to move through. Returning to Jedha after we abandoned it is too little, too late. Why now?”

“We didn’t abandon our city. We still have work to do, I feel it, and that work wouldn’t have gotten done if we’d died that day. Now, it’s time for us to return to duty.” Chirrut shrugged. To him, it really was as simple as that. Or rather, it had to be if he was going to carry on.

“We’re doing fine just as we are.”

“This is survival, not duty.”

Baze let out a frustrated huff, realizing that there was no arguing that point. “What makes you so certain now is the time?”

“I had a dream.”

Baze laughed, and it sounded like an ancient engine struggling to turn over deep in his chest. “You’re always dreaming, old fool. And always trying to drag me with you.”

“As if you’ve ever been able to stay away. I’m just trying to save you the trouble of chasing after me.” Chirrut smiled, leaning into Baze’s warm bulk. “In this dream, I watched a sunrise on Jedha for the first time.”

“Watched?” He could feel Baze looking at him, and was certain that if he touched his face, he’d feel his forehead wrinkled in concentration.

“Not with these busted eyes. The Force lent me sight. I was standing outside the city, on one of the mesas, a hot wind at my back. Strange for Jedha, I know, but I didn’t realize it yet in the dream. It was harsh and beautiful, like pale knives piercing the horizon.” Chirrut realized as he was speaking that no words could do justice to that sunrise. Nothing in the whole galaxy could explain the terrible joy of it, the ache in his skull from carrying eyes that saw too much for his mind to process. Nothing but the Force, but that was something Baze had long since decided he didn’t want to see anymore. He closed his own eyes and felt a warm tear on his cheek. Before it could reach the corner of his mouth, Baze’s rough thumb swiped it away.

“I watched it for what felt like hours, it just kept going, but it made me miss home. I realized I’d never seen the Holy City and turned to find it on the horizon, but it wasn’t there. Nothing was.” Chirrut was crying now, but if asked he couldn’t have said why. Baze snaked his arm around his torso and squeezed.

“Baze, it was as though something had scooped out the world’s core with a spoon. The horizon was concave. And then, the Force showed me a single small Kyber crystal hovering over the crater, where NiJedha should be. It expanded into a star, and just as the star was about to consume me, I woke up. It wasn’t a sad dream, though. I felt nothing but hope.”

For a long time, Baze said nothing. Only their breathing and the rush of overflowing gutters broke the silence. Some foreign emotion prickled deep in his gut, hot and sharp. It took him a moment to identify it as shame. Why now? Why not when he left the Guardians, or when he started killing for pay? Or when he finally convinced Chirrut to leave the city behind for good? Perhaps he was looking at their life with clear eyes for the first time in a while and realizing how far they’d strayed—how much they’d let their rage and grief separate them from the things they once loved so dearly. It was true, he’d never felt as removed from himself as he had in these recent months of chasing odd jobs through Coruscant’s underworld, hiding from the Empire and the poison rain and everything Chirrut was now saying they needed to run headlong towards.

At last, he took his arm out from behind Chirrut and ran his hands through his hair, sighing deeply. “And this means we have to return to Jedha while it’s still whole?”

“Yeah. And then we have to find that star.” Chirrut dragged a hand down his face, letting his head fall back to rest against the clammy, faintly sticky wall. Jedha’s climate may be harsh, but he definitely would not miss Coruscant, where even breathing made him feel like he needed a bath. He was tired. So very tired.

“Chirrut?” Baze asked after a moment of thoughtful silence, during which some of the turmoil felt between them simmered down a bit.

“Baze?”

“I hate your dreams. I really do. But I’m going to finish this job tomorrow and start looking for freighters headed to Mid Rim.”

Chirrut thought he’d feel more relieved to hear that, but all he could manage was a weak smile. He brought his lips to Baze’s temple, then rested his forehead gently in the hollow there, cradling the back of his head. “Thank you for hearing me out.”

Baze pulled back, shaking his head. “Don’t. If it needs to be done, it needs to be done.”

Chirrut clapped a hand to his shoulder and used it as leverage to stand. “That’s the spirit. Now can we quit sulking in the rain before our tea gets cold?”

Baze hmm-ed irritably in reply, but accepted Chirrut’s hand up, lacing their fingers together and giving them a brief squeeze. Death followed them inside, but for the time being, it kept its distance.


	2. shortcut

The hike up to NiJedha was longer than Baze remembered. Yes, there were shuttles from the freight yard up the city’s steep cliffs to the interior, but they were staffed by Imperial troopers, and he and Baze were still technically wanted for treason, among other things.

“I don’t mind a bit of fresh air,” Chirrut assured him. To anyone else, he seemed to be happily stretching in the sun after they’d deboarded, but these were the first words he’d spoken since, and Baze could feel his inner turmoil from across the landing pad. He’d been talkative the entire trip, becoming fast friends with their captain and one of the other stowaway charters on board, but since making atmosphere, he’d grown preternaturally quiet.

Baze finished paying the captain’s first mate and joined Chirrut. “Do you remember the way?” he asked, starting off for the narrow, winding road up the side of the mesa.

“What’s changed?”

Baze shaded his eyes while he scrutinized the city. “Not much on the surface. Imperial checkpoint at South Split, but I count only two storm troopers.”

“We won’t need to go that far.” And with that, Chirrut set off, swinging his staff at ankle height. Baze followed, and was unable to shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong here.

…

Less than a third of the way up, they had to stop for water and catch their breath. Both were in great shape, considering the lives they’d lived up to this point, but Jedha’s atmosphere was thin, and they’d forgotten how quickly the dry cold sucked the air from one’s lungs. A few isolated pilgrims shuffled around them on the narrow dirt path, no doubt seeking enlightenment on the old Temple road even now.

“Force be with you!” Chirrut called after each one. Baze just leaned against the cliff face and watched them pass in stony silence.

A little further up, Chirrut stopped to rap at a boulder with the butt of his staff, feeling around its base till he found what he was searching for. “All clear?” he asked, and when Baze looked around and grunted in assent, he jammed his weapon into an unassuming hole in the stone. Never had he been so relieved to hear the hiss of ancient pneumatic hinges unlocking.

Baze was watching curiously, but standing right on top of the door. “Watch your feet, my love,” Chirrut told him, using the end of his staff to shoo him back a ways. When a hatch in the ground slid open, Chirrut smelled stale, rancid smoke, and the sense of loss he’d felt on the freighter became nearly overwhelming.

Baze must’ve sensed it too. “Are you sure this is okay?” He flicked the light switch on his cannon’s scope and shone it into the darkness. The ladder seemed to be structurally sound, but there was a  _ wrongness _ down there which made both of their skins crawl.

Chirrut’s voice came out as scarcely above a whisper. He had no idea what to expect, but he didn’t sense any immediate danger at least. And if they could avoid a skirmish with Imperial troops before even entering the city, it would be worth whatever waited below. Or so he thought. “It won’t be pleasant, but it will be safe.”

…

 

Baze started down first so he could spot the landing for Chirrut. The tunnel itself was fairly shallow, depositing them on soft silt. Even Baze’s bulk barely made a sound when it hit the ground in this place. He stayed close to the ladder and shone his scope around in a slow, low arc. They were in an enormous cave, the walls of which had been ground smooth as plascrete, making every breath echo. Somewhere below them, water pulsed sluggishly against stone.

Behind Baze, Chirrut covered his mouth to muffle what sounded like a whimper of pain. Baze reached for him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Chirrut was shaking, but he wasn’t injured.

“Where are we, Chirrut?” He suspected he knew, but didn’t want to believe it. Chirrut seemed unable to answer. The sinking feeling in his stomach grew. “Do you want me to describe it to you?” Chirrut shook his head and buried his face in Baze’s suit.

They stood, swaying together, for what felt like hours. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Baze’s other senses sharpened. He could now smell spent fuel residue, and faintly hear the noise of the city far overhead. Another more thorough look around revealed durasteel beams placed around the massive cavern that ran all the way up to the roof of the cave, likely to keep NiJedha’s weight from crumbling into this hollow place. A wide platform ran the cave’s perimeter, ending at a steep stone staircase on the far wall that Baze thought he recognized. Just once, upon his formal initiation to the Guardians, he’d been permitted to take that flight of stairs to see what he’d sworn his life to protecting, what was no longer here…

“These were the kyber mines, weren’t they?” And as if saying it had somehow made it more real, the crushing horror of what Baze was seeing began to sink in. The last time he’d been here, a shaman had carefully guided him through a whole network of caves. They’d walked barefoot so as not to erode the sandstone more than necessary, and they’d brought no light, as the crystals provided their own cool blue glow. Below them had been the slow, steady roar of rushing water from the reservoir that supplied the Holy City and the aquifer beneath. If Baze had ever believed in the power of the Force, it would have been on that day.

…

Chirrut said nothing. He couldn’t stop trembling. Fury and grief pitched a hollow roar that resonated through the chamber, drowning out every other sensation. Chirrut was dimly aware that Baze had set his weapon down and pulled Chirrut into a tight embrace. He loved Baze deeply for that, but it did nothing to help in the moment.

“I can’t feel anything…” Chirrut’s voice was hoarse. He hated that it sounded like a confession. “ _They didn’t leave_ _anything_ to _feel_.” He forced the words out one by one, and each syllable burnt like bile coming up. He wanted to cry, but there was nothing left to mourn.

For over thirty years of his life, Chirrut had wandered these caves. It had been one of the few places he’d felt truly at home, truly safe. The kyber had heightened his senses when it was just him, navigating these ancient passages by Force alone, but it had soothed everything as well. Each crystal was tuned to its own frequency, and the harmonies they hummed when Chirrut’s passing stirred them from their slumber were the sweetest voices he’d ever heard. If Baze’s life had been defending the sanctuary, Chirrut’s had been tending these caves, which had once seemed more full of life than the richest garden to him.

His body still remembered those paths. He knew where each any every vein of kyber should be, woven through stone and water like a tapestry of the whole universe folded beneath Jedha city. He didn’t need Baze to tell him what had been done to the caves—they’d been murdered. Their guts had been dragged to the surface, ore and all, ground into fuel for the Imperial machine. Not even the reservoir had been left untouched, likely emptied for ease of access to the lower caverns. Chirrut could hear the echo of empty drains at the bottom of the pit and could almost see the only clean water on the planet being pumped up to the surface, churned into mud that would glisten in the desert sun and be evaporated or turned to frost by nightfall. What was left, lapping at the mine’s stripped walls, was little more than a poisoned pond full of drowned and abandoned mining equipment. Chirrut had no doubt if he touched its surface, his hand would come away slick with leaked fuel.

With great effort, Chirrut pushed himself from Baze’s arms. “There’s no reason to stay in this corpse-place. It’s not ours anymore.” He spat on the ground and took two steps forward into dead space before he realized his internal compass was nonexistent down here. All his familiar routes had been stripped, and the yawning grave before him offered no assistance.

He turned to Baze, who was shouldering his blaster in solemn silence. “Can you lead me? I’m tired.” _I don't want to see this._

Baze grabbed Chirrut’s hand and wove their fingers together, the heat providing some minor comfort. They hung close together and didn’t breathe another word till they reached the stairway to the sanctuary.


	3. homecoming

Once they’d left the gutted cavern beneath NiJedha and emerged into the sanctuary proper, it got a little easier to breathe. For both of them, this would mark their first return to the temple complex since Empire day, four years ago, when bored troopers had decided to light it up in celebration and call it a mining accident to save face.

It was a miracle the sanctuary still stood at all, the tall spire being hundreds of years old to begin with by the time the Empire occupied Jedha. Most of the south wall was nonexistent, and it had long since been looted of anything more valuable than the rubble and shrapnel littering the floor. To Chirrut, the walls still stank of smoke. He pulled his hand from Baze’s grip and stepped off a little ways, feeling his way through the now unfamiliar structure.

Baze stood very still, planting his boots in the center of what had once been an intricately mosaicked tile floor. Just as he’d feared it would, this place still felt like home. The few north windows that were still intact cast long stripes of cold light on the floor that now contrasted harshly with soot stains and dirty boot prints. Some aspiring artist had decided to use the reinforced uneti wood doors (one of which was hanging off its hinges) to try their hand at Twi’lek anatomy with garish green and yellow paint.

And yet, despite it being stripped to the bone, Baze found himself glad to be here. He’d never gotten a chance at closure when they left, so as hard as it was to see the temple robbed of everything he’d loved about it, the weight of the moment sat  _ right _ on his chest.

Chirrut kicked over a piece of rubble, which startled a nest of mynocks that had been roosting in the rafters into ungainly flight. They settled under the cloister awning, screeching angrily, but left the pair alone. Baze picked his way over to Chirrut to see what he’d knelt to trace with his fingertips. Before his eyes focused, he knew what he was looking at: their initials scratched crookedly into a sandstone brick, once part of one of the many benches lining the sanctuary walls.

“I’m amazed you found that,” Baze said, trying not to let too much emotion seep into his voice. As if he had anything to hide from Chirrut, who just shrugged. Baze dropped to one knee, his own fingertips running over the lines of the oblong sun they’d carved around the letters. At that point, they’d been maybe fifteen at most. Baze had been reluctant to sneak into the sanctuary in the dead of night, but Chirrut, as always, was very persuasive. Baze had craned his neck back and tried to see all the way to the top of the sanctuary spire while Chirrut had splayed his palms across the floor, following the lines of the mosaics with rapturous glee.

_ I never want to forget this _ , Chirrut had said, pulling a piece of slate out of his robes and setting to work on the bench. Baze was uncomfortable with the idea of leaving their mark on such holy ground, but many of the other benches bore similar inscriptions, or were heaped high with wilting flowers and other small trinkets left in reverence, so he let Chirrut talk him into taking the stone and adding his own initials.

“I’m ready to move on if you are,” Chirrut said softly, pulling him from his memories with a hand on his shoulder. He pushed himself back to his feet with the butt of his staff and waited patiently for Baze to finish his own contemplation.

“Still want me to lead?” Baze asked, brushing rubble off his knees and re-shouldering his blaster.

Chirrut shook his head. “Familiar territory. Or did you forget we lived here for fourty years? My, you are getting old.” He smiled with one corner of his mouth and set off.

“No older than you, and I still have my common sense.” Their banter came easy, mindless comfort in this empty place. Baze gave the sanctuary one last look over his shoulder, lingering on the dark maw that lead down to the spent kyber mine. He shivered and hurried after Chirrut, who was already waiting for him at the far side of the courtyard.

…

They didn’t linger anywhere so long as they had in the sanctuary. Chirrut drifted about the complex, briefly touching base with all his old haunts while Baze followed at a short distance, spotting for environmental hazards and Stormtrooper patrols. The guardians’ private quarters, it turned out, had been populated by squatters, who’d turned that corner of the complex into a thriving tent village.

“Destroyed but not obsolete,” Chirrut mused with a smile. Baze, too, was glad that the temple was still serving NiJedha somehow, even now.

They approached the camp openly, and Chirrut struck up conversation with a middle-aged togruta who was attempting to turn Imperial rations into a passable meal, by the look of things. Baze hung back while they traded news, then advice. The torgruta wanted to know if they had any word from Shili. They’d been on pilgrimage to Jedha when the Empire invaded, had lost everything in the initial attacks, and hadn’t been able to save up enough to find safe transport off the moon and back home all this time. Chirrut offered a prayer, politely declined, and asked about safe, off-the-books boarding in the city.

“Here, if you have your own shelter. All the structurally sound rooms are occupied right now, but we keep our own council, and the troopers leave us alone if we’re quiet.”

Chirrut turned towards Baze, seeking his input. In answer, he got a low growl. Passing through was one thing, but Baze was  _ not _ sleeping on temple grounds.

So Chirrut offered his thanks, and the togruta sent them on their way with a small meal (which was dense and mealy, but flavorful), along with a word of luck.

…

Perhaps the past was rose-tinted, but Chirrut remembered NiJedha having much more bustle to it than the city he was walking through now. There was the familiar din of hundreds of languages in conversation with each other, rising and falling in waves with the steady drone of droid activity running through it all. There were cooking smells and cleaning smells, people smells and earth smells. There were street vendors hawking their wares, food carts and news kiosks.

But it was as though all of this had been pushed into the shadows, swept out of the way like Chirrut used to kick his dirty laundry under the bed to avoid doing it. Never had he seen Jedha’s streets so empty, its people so quick to avoid each other.

“Baze, what do you see?” Chirrut asked. He was swinging his staff in low, wide arcs—not out of necessity, for the familiar streets were eerily clean, but to fill in the empty space around him with whatever motion he could.

In his thoughtful silence, Chirrut knew Baze was looking around, searching for the right words. Baze never described things in precise, literal detail unless Chirrut asked, he just got right to what was important.

“A lot of locked doors, and one open diner a ways up.”

“Still hungry?”

“No, but I want a cup of caf and some information. Your new friend wasn’t very helpful back there.”

Chirrut frowned at that. “We should reach out to the people we know, first. The only thriving eatery on the block might stay that way thanks to imperial sympathies.”

Baze grabbed Chirrut’s elbow, forcing him to stop, and spun him around so they were face to face. “Who? Who do we know here, Chirrut? Give me a name—anyone trustworthy who isn’t jailed, under surveillance, or dead.”

“M’tua?” Chirrut suggested, unphased by the sudden outburst. He’d felt it brewing since they landed. Where Chirrut’s grief imploded on itself, Baze’s was raw and expansive as a solar flare, rising to the surface at the slightest provocation.

“She’d just received summons to a labor camp on Dantooine when we left. She’s long gone by now.”

“Hap and Rowan?”

“Hap was in the sanctuary when it blew.”

“So, Rowan.”

“You really think he’s still here?”

“We’d be fools if we didn’t check first.”

“And if he’s not?”

“Then we get you a cup of caf. Elsewhere. That place doesn’t feel right.”

“Your damn feelings.”

“Why don’t you want to see him?”

Baze let go of Chirrut’s arm and took a few steps back. Chirrut felt a pang of hurt from him and felt bad for digging into a sore spot. It wasn’t easy for either of them to be back, but Baze had always been more tender-hearted than Chirrut. They’d never gotten a chance to see Rowan again after what happened, and doing so would reopen a wound that had never gotten a chance to heal right in the first place.

Chirrut hung his head. “I’m sorry, Baze. At the very least, we need to find a room before dark. Everything else can wait till morning.”

Baze was sullen. “Can it? I still don’t know what we’re doing here. Finding your kriffing kyber star?” He snorted derisively. “If you were a client, I’d tell you exactly where to shove—“

“I don’t know.” Chirrut was starting to get irritable, especially at Baze comparing him to the murderous cowards who sought their services. Maybe it was the dropping temperature, maybe it was exhaustion, maybe he was equally as emotionally raw as Baze was and just not admitting it to himself. Whatever the cause, he found himself gritting his teeth. “I’ll know it when I see it, but for now we just need to get our bearings and trust in—“

“Don’t you dare say it,” Baze growled.

As much as Chirrut’s knee-jerk response was to be antagonistic, it would do nothing but rile Baze up and turn this into a petty argument. He took a slow, calming breath:  _ I am one with the Force _ on the inhale,  _ the Force is with me _ on the exhale.

“I smelled a fresher pot of caf down the alley a few blocks up. We can ask the stall owner about discreet lodging.”

Baze let out a deep, grumbling sigh, and Chirrut felt some of the tension leave his frame. “Okay. We better hurry before they close.”

…

The young Iridonian woman working the stall had pointed them in the direction of a cheap hostel near the north wall. By the time they reached it, the temperature had dropped enough that Baze’s fingertips were numb and Chirrut’s nose was running. The tall, narrow building was falling apart, and looked as though it were leaning most of its weight on the structure next to it, but there was a warm glow coming from the windows, and a flickering OPEN, VACANCIES sign in both Aurebesh and Huttese.

The first floor appeared to be a dining and common space, with a long desk along the back wall serving as reception. A bored-looking twi’lek was watching holos behind it, chin in hands. When he spotted Baze’s heavy repeater cannon, the glazed look in his eyes vanished in an instant, replaced with panic.

“Hey, we don’t want any trouble,” he stammered, raising his hands in the air. Baze was silent.

Chirrut stepped up to the counter and offered up a friendly smile. “Good thing we’re not here to make any, just looking for somewhere warm to sleep for the night. One room, please?”

The twi’lek looked the pair over carefully, apparently coming to the hesitant conclusion that they most likely weren’t looking to open fire in his business, or at least that his business was desperate enough to serve their kind. “We have an open double on level four..?” he suggested, his eyes still not leaving the blaster swinging from Baze’s belt.

“Won’t be necessary,” Chirrut dismissed cheerfully. “Just something with a bed and a window, whatever’s cheapest.”

Baze stepped up to the counter and reached for his cash, which caused the receptionist to flinch. Chirrut could hear him swallow thickly. “Level six, third door on your left. Toilets at the end of the hall, freshers are on this level and charge per minute if you use water.” Baze dropped a large bill on the desk.

“And, uh, you’ll need to check your weapon at the desk. Sir…”

“ _ No _ .” Baze dropped a protective hand heavily to the butt of his blaster and leveled a dark stare at the  twi’lek.

Chirrut had to fight a smile. It always tickled him when Baze played the intimidating bodyguard. The receptionist muttered a flustered apology, handed Baze their room key, and stared after them till the lift doors closed behind them.

Chirrut elbowed him in the ribs. “You shouldn’t frighten our host so,” he chided.

Baze just chuckled and shoved Chirrut back.

Their room really wasn’t much more than a bed and a window, and the latter could scarcely be called such. It was a narrow rectangle set high in the wall, too small for either of them to squeeze through if they needed to make a quick escape. But it did provide a beautiful view of the sun setting over NaJedha.

Baze locked the door and began unloading his gear, each piece hitting the floor with a heavy thud. When he was down to his boilersuit, he stretched, grunting with satisfaction when his back cracked. Chirrut walked the room, familiarizing himself with the layout, then sat down on the bed (which sank nearly to the floor beneath him) to take his boots off. Baze joined him, and the poor frame’s rusty joints groaned, but held.

“Long day,” Baze sighed, flopping back onto the mattress. It was true. They’d left Coruscant well before dawn to catch their shuttle, and hadn’t really stopped to rest since.

Chirrut hummed in reply and began stripping down to his underclothes. When he’d reached a comfortable level of near-nakedness, he leaned back with his head resting on Baze’s stomach and his feet kicked up against the wall. “And longer days ahead.”

“Don’t remind me. I only want to think about sleep right now.” Chirrut could feel Baze’s voice vibrating through his ribcage, as well as his own eyes growing heavier by the second. They had a lot to talk about, and even more to do, but neither of them were any good for it in this state.

“So lose the suit and join me properly in bed.” Chirrut sat up and turned around, nudging Baze’s hip with his foot to encourage him to do the same. Baze grumbled and reluctantly rolled to his feet. While he was undressing, Chirrut shook out the covers and crawled under them, pressing his face into the pillow, which was surprisingly soft. Baze joined him a moment later, and Chirrut slid his arm around his waist, pulling him close. Throughout the night, they usually drifted apart, Baze being a light sleeper and a blanket thief, Chirrut a sprawler, but they still started off in each other’s arms. It felt strange not to do so after all these years.

Chirrut smoothed Baze’s hair out of the way and kissed his shoulder. “Can you see the window from here?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell me about the sunset?”

“Of course.”

 


	4. old friends

Consciousness came slowly to Baze. He hadn’t expected to sleep nearly so deeply with everything that was weighing on him, but the body’s needs had taken over the mind’s anxious toiling not long after Chirrut had started snoring against the back of his neck.

With great effort, he pried his eyes open and was greeted with clear, intense light. He rolled onto his back and rubbed his face, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes till he saw stars. Outside their room, the dull hollow roar of Jedha’s autumn winds rattled past the window. Their next door neighbors were bickering about where to get breakfast.

Next to him, Chirrut seemed to be just waking up as well. He sat slumped over on his side of the bed with one leg tucked under him and the other trailing on the floor, itching his scalp. His features were vacant and glazed. In the early morning light, the various scars he’d collected over his lifetime shone darkly. Baze rolled again, throwing his arm around Chirrut’s waist and pulling him close.

Chirrut let himself be dragged around with little protest. “You slept like a hutt,” he remarked through a wide yawn. “I thought I was going to have to slap you awake.”

Baze pushed himself up against the headboard and settled Chirrut between his knees. He dropped his chin onto his partner’s shoulder and sighed. “I think it was the wind. I forgot how soothing it was.” Chirrut’s cold skin quickly warmed against Baze’s chest. If time was a luxury afforded to them, he would’ve liked to stay in bed like this all day, exchanging heat under the blankets…

“We should get moving…” Chirrut mumbled reluctantly, finishing Baze’s train of thought out loud.

Baze gave Chirrut a squeeze and buried his nose in the crook of his neck. “The day can wait a few more minutes.”

 

Chirrut apparently agreed, because he snuggled back against Baze and reached a hand up to comb through his hair. “If Malud’s is still open, that’s where I want breakfast. Then it’s an easy walk over to Rowan’s place.”

Of course Chirrut would suggest Baze’s favorite eatery, trying to fatten him up so he’d be more amenable to the idea of socializing with old friends. But now, after a good night’s rest and some introspection, meeting Rowan didn’t seem as grim of a prospect as it had yesterday evening, when he’d felt certain they were the last living relics of peaceful times left in the city. The sight of the temple all but leveled, though still brutally fresh in their minds, was now a thing of memory, and memory had a way of putting things into perspective. The Holy City was more than just the temple after all, and the familiar streets would welcome them back one way or another. As long as there was a city to welcome them, they would never truly be alone in their home.

“I hope they still serve sweetroot hashbrowns,” Baze mused. His fingers idly stroked an old bruise on Chirrut’s hip while he thought. He wanted to store this moment in his heart forever to get him through the days ahead.

Chirrut twisted around to kiss Baze, then disentangled himself from the blankets to begin his morning stretches. Baze joined him a moment later, somehow finding space in the crowded room to fall into step beside Chirrut. He closed his eyes, feeling their bodies move side by side, growing steady and limber as these lazy moments dragged on. When Chirrut sank into meditation, Baze broke off his rhythm to get dressed, then sat at the foot of the bed re-tying his hair while Chirrut finished.

…

Malud’s Mid-Rim Grill  _ was _ still open, and the savory smells wafting from its bay windows brought up a wave of nostalgia that swelled in Chirrut’s chest till he had no choice but to grin and let it all out. When the Empire razed the temple gardens, they’d started venturing further into the city for food and stuck up a casual friendship with her. She was a kind, clever woman with no tolerance for pretension, and Chirrut had missed their conversations over tea and dumplings.

Baze clapped Chirrut on the shoulder, and the relief he felt was a palpable heat in the frosty morning air. The toydarian who seated them and poured their caf didn’t seem to recognize either of them, he must have just started working there when Baze and Chirrut left.

“Any starters for ya?” their server asked.

Baze went ahead and ordered his favorite breakfast bowl, with an extra side of hashbrowns and sausage for Chirrut. Chirrut declined to order anything, instead asking if Malud herself was in this morning.

“Eeh, she is, ah, busy in the back. Doesn’t talk to customers much.”

 

“Would you let her know some old friends are here anyways? I’d love to see her.”

“I’ll pass it along. No promises.”

When he’d flitted off out of earshot, Baze snickered under his breath. “The look he gave you… Mustafar will freeze over before a toydarian trusts a stranger.”

And yet, when their food showed up, it wasn’t the server carrying it, but Malud Callemia herself: a lot greyer around the edges, but still the same welcome presence.

“Chirrut  Îmwe and Baze Malbus!” She called, her pockmarked and weathered face breaking into a toothless grin. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Baze actually stood up to embrace her, lifting her feet off the floor in the process. She laughed and stood on tiptoe to kiss both his cheeks before turning to Chirrut.

“May I?” he asked, and held his hands out to her.

“Of course.” She brought his fingertips to her face and leaned down patiently while Chirrut explored the new paths that age had carved at the corners of her eyes and along the sides of her nose.

“Gorgeous as ever,” he concluded, beaming up at her. They hadn’t even been particularly close in the brief time they’d known each other, and yet…

“You two sure are a sight for tired eyes. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone from the old days,” Malud mused, echoing Chirrut’s thoughts.

“The same goes for us,” Baze agreed, sitting back down. He touched Chirrut’s wrist, showing him plate and silverware, then tucked into his own meal eagerly. “We’ve been offworld. Both feet aren’t in the grave yet.”

Malud’s laugh was a sharp cackle. “Speak for yourself, young man!” she crowed. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Chirrut said around a mouthful of sweetroot.

She dragged over a chair from a nearby table. “So, what news from afar?”

“We were about to ask you the same thing,” Chirrut said with a shrug. “The holos may say  _ peace _ , but it’s hard to forget there’s a war going on, wherever you go.”

Malud hummed thoughtfully in understanding. “So. What brings you back?”

Chirrut was considering his answer carefully when Baze replied for him. “A feeling. NiJedha isn’t through with us yet.”

“By your tone, seems you’re ready to be through with NiJedha.” Malud had lowered her voice and leaned closer.

Baze shook his head. Chirrut could tell that statement had rubbed him wrong, but his energy still felt calm. “This is home, I could never be through with it. No more than you could close shop and retire to a beach on Felucia.”

Again, that wild cackle. “So fatalistic! But I suppose you’re right. Home chooses you, not the other way around, hm?”

“So true, old friend,” Chirrut butted in. Baze seemed grateful for the intervention and went back to his food, packing it away like he was preparing for a siege. Or maybe he was just keeping his mouth full so he had an excuse not to converse. For as much as he loved people, Baze Malbus was not a social creature. Ever the wallflower, he much preferred letting Chirrut do the talking while he watched and listened quietly.

“Speaking of old friends, we’re looking for someone.” Chirrut pushed his own empty plate aside and leaned towards Malud. She smelled like sweat and dust and seared meat. “Do you know if Rowan Brightholder is still around?”

Malud’s face wrinkled, and Chirrut sensed her brash, crackling energy retreat into itself a bit. “He stopped coming in so much around when you two vanished. I don’t think he dealt with his husband’s death well, no one’s really been in contact with him for years now.”

“Is he still alive?” Baze asked. Chirrut wondered if Malud could sense the urgency in his tone, or if it was only their Force-bond that made it so obvious.

“Last I heard. I think he found work in the Kessel System.”

Baze turned to Chirrut, who cocked his head to indicate he was listening. They couldn’t speak to each other non-verbally, per se, but the emotional exchange between them was accurate enough to converse after a fashion. Despite his earlier reluctance, Baze seemed fixated on making contact with Rowan now, and though Chirrut was inclined to let sleeping zillos lie, his instincts told him that they were on the right path. He sensed nothing but pain in trying to find their old friend, but dark as it was, the future in that direction held a certain effervescent  _ possibility _ to it.

“Do you have a holo code for him? Or a last known address?” Chirrut asked.

“I might…” Malud sounded skeptical. “He left some stuff in storage with me and never came back for it, including forwarding information—as if I’m going to pay shipping on  _ that _ . Do you have a minute?”

They both shrugged. When Malud had left to dig up Rowan’s info, their server buzzed over to refill their caf and drop them the check. Baze was just pulling out his money when Malud returned and swatted it out of his hand.

“Don’t you dare try to pay me, Baze. This one’s on me, for old times’ sake. Now, are your memories still sharp, or do I have to copy this down?”

“Just read it off,” Chirrut said. “And then we’ll have to be going.”

She did, then stood to leave. “I have errands anyways. Is there anything else you need first?”

Chirrut shook his head. “Seeing you alive and well is enough, and you’ve been very helpful. If we have time after wrapping up our business, I would love to catch up more.”

“The same goes for you. You’re always welcome here, and if you swing by after closing I’ll save some leftover sweet tea for you.”

Chirrut nodded his thanks and stood to embrace her. In that brief moment of contact, he realized that this was the last time their paths would cross. This he knew with a deep, sad certainty, the same way he’d known NiJedha’s kyber mines had been bled dry before he’d even entered the city. He placed a gentle hand on her hair and smiled with all the warmth he could muster. “I’ve been blessed for knowing you, Malud. Force be with you.”

She swatted him away, feigning annoyance. “By stars, Chirrut. Save your sweet talk. And Baze, take care of yourself.”

When she left, Baze and Chirrut were both in a more solemn mood than they’d entered with. Baze left a hefty tip under his plate despite Malud’s wishes and stood to leave. He couldn’t explain it if asked, usually he was more careful with his earnings because it meant he didn’t have to take new jobs as often, but the money didn’t seem important anymore. It was as if some part of him knew it wouldn’t do him any good where they were going. Chirrut followed Baze outside in silence, absorbed in his own contemplation.


	5. new friends

In full daylight, Jedha’s streets were swarming with Imperial patrols. And not just the pairs of restless stormtroopers harassing transients that Baze and Chirrut were used to in their time, but armored tanks and full units in riot armor. Some were even carrying regulation versions of Baze’s heavy repeater cannon, glossy black barrels reflecting high noon light.

Chirrut nudged Baze with his staff. “Sounds like a party.”

“I’m glad we missed the invite.” Baze held out a hand to keep Chirrut from stepping out of the alley and into the path of an enforcer droid that had strayed from its unit. They retreated into the shadows, heads down, and the droid stalked past them, its lantern eyes lingering a moment on Baze’s blaster before passing on.

They waited till the armored procession had turned a corner, and then Chirrut stepped into the road, turning his face to the sky. He was frowning in concentration, still as a nexu scenting its prey.

“Do you feel it, Baze?” he asked.

Baze felt something, alright—a flash of hot irritation rising in his cheeks. Though he knew it wasn’t the case, he couldn’t help but feel that Chirrut was baiting him when he asked about his  _ feelings _ in that particular tone. But what Chirrut called the Force, Baze called intuition, and that shift in semantics made it easier to answer. He’d never had visions of the sort that kept his beloved up at night, but he could read his surroundings like a second language. Right now, they were empty. Disturbingly empty.

“No, Chirrut, I don’t feel anything. It’s like NiJedha is holding its breath for something.” They should get moving. Baze’s gut was telling him they shouldn’t linger in the open like this. He urged Chirrut on with a hand at the small of his back.

Chirrut nodded, taking Baze’s lead reluctantly. He was still looking around as if the imperial pennants snapping in the breeze overhead held the secrets of the universe.

“Do you want to find a CashComm so you can try calling Rowan?”

“Those troops looked desperate for something to shoot at. I give it an hour before they find an excuse to open fire.”

“Saw Gerrera’s militia is making a move today.  I overheard a group in the hostel common room last night. Wanna bet it’ll turn into a full scale battle?”

“I don’t gamble. Not with you.”

“Why’s that?”

 

“You cheat.”

“Do not!”

“No one’s that lucky unless they’re cheating.”

“It’s not luck, it’s the Force.”

“Should we really be making social calls right now?”

“Why don’t you make that choice? I’m just following the wind.”

As they steadily made their way towards the city center, Baze grew increasingly uncomfortable. He began to notice other armed civilians, or rather, warriors trying to look like civilians. They kept their distance from the guardians, and a handful of the older ones, upon seeing Chirrut’s robes, grabbed the air over their heads and blew into their closed fists. It was a common superstition among Force-worshipers: snatching a handful of light for luck. Seeing it now made the back of his neck prickle.

Chirrut stopped walking and sat down on the steps of an old church a few blocks from South Harbin Square, one of the temple’s outposts within the city. In its prime, it had served as an information and communications center. High on blasted walls, a faded sign read  _ THE HOLY CITY WELCOMES YOU _ . Below it, and mostly out of order, was a row of public HoloNet communicators. Strategically, it was a good place to camp out. They were familiar with this part of the city, and the older architecture was sturdy and defensible in case of emergency.

Baze felt sick and restless. He wanted to sit next to Chirrut, needed the comfort of his nearness, but he had to find a way to burn off some of his energy before he snapped. He made his way over to the one working communicator and stared at it.

He had Rowan’s last known number memorized, but his hands didn’t want to dial it for some reason. For a long moment, he stood slackly in front of the comm, clenching and unclenching his hands. The scrolling holotext and accompanying audio calmly instructed him in and endless loop to  _ dial zero to select your frequency, service may not be available in some systems, additional charges may apply to Outer Rim calls, dial zero to select your frequency, service may not be available in some systems, additional charges may apply— _

“Baze!” That was Chirrut calling him. He turned to see his partner beckoning him over. Baze gave the comm one last lingering look before joining him, sitting one step lower and leaning back to look at Chirrut, who was watching him closely.

“What’s changed? Did he answer?” Chirrut asked.

Baze seemed to have forgotten how to speak. Chirrut seemed to have plenty to say, but Baze cut him off before he could begin with a low grumble and a hand on his knee. “Give me a minute.”

Chirrut rested his own hand over Baze’s and nodded. With his other hand, he pulled out a battered wooden bowl from his robes and dropped a few coins from his pocket into it as bait money, which he rattled periodically at passersby, none of whom were feeling generous.

Without anyone’s attention on him, Baze found it easier to gather his thoughts and sift through the muddied waters of his emotions for what he wanted to say.

“Everything’s changed. Jedha is the only home I’ve ever had. It’s still  _ my place _ , even now. And in some ways, it hasn’t changed a bit, but in the ways that are important, I can’t recognize it. Nothing feels right anymore...”

Chirrut applied gentle pressure to Baze’s hand. “Jedha is looking at you and thinking the same thing.”

Though said with kindness, the words cut deep. Though he still wore his hair the same way out of habit, Baze had distanced himself as much in appearance as he could from Jedha. In the first year after they’d left home, he’d pawned his robes for spare power cells for his cannon. Chirrut had talked him into keeping his lightbow and had repaired it himself when the grip wore down, but it had been years since Baze had fired it himself. Chirrut’s companionship marked him as a local, but in all but heart, he’d turned himself into an outsider. Only Malud had seen through him since their return, and had welcomed him home with an ease that made their parting that much bitterer.

“It’s best that Rowan keeps on believing we’re dead. There’s nothing left for him here.”

Chirrut just listened in silence, staring straight ahead.

Baze took a deep breath. “I was being selfish. I wanted to make this trip something it wasn’t. We’re not here to make peace with the past, we’re here to make sure there’s a future for the galaxy that’s brighter than the one we’re heading into. It wouldn’t be fair to Rowan to drag him back into this mess, he’s worked as hard as I did to make a new life for himself. Besides, we won’t be on Jedha much longer. We’ve got a few more battles left in us, and after that we’re going to—“

Baze clamped his jaw shut around the word he’d almost let escape, shocked that it had even made it as far up from his subconscious as his tongue.  _ We’re going to die _ . That thought echoed through his bones, and he couldn’t un-think it now, because on some level, he knew it to be true. He looked to Chirrut, wild-eyed, and was surprised to find him smiling broadly.

“You’re too hard on yourself, Malbus,” he chided softly. “Of course we’ll die. And when we do, it’ll be with beautiful fury on your part and effortless grace on mine, as always.”

Baze slouched against Chirrut’s thigh. Chirrut may have played it off as a joke, but there was no getting around how  _ dire _ every moment, every minor decision felt. Baze hated uncertainty, it made him jumpy and anxious. “If it’s just us against the Empire, you better stay with me till the end, or I’ll have to call upon the Force once more just to curse it back into dark matter.”

“Fair enough. And if you let these fears take you from me before our time, I’ll kick your ass into the light myself.” Chirrut wove his fingers into Baze’s hair and leaned down to kiss his forehead, trying to smooth out some of the stress-wrinkles there. They leaned into each other for a minute, and then Baze stood up with a grunt of effort.

“I’m going to scout the area before the storm breaks.  _ Please _ stay nearby.”

Chirrut rolled his eyes. “Yes, the blind panhandler is going to just get up and wander off into a warzone without a guide.”

Baze had no trouble imagining Chirrut doing just that.

 

“Oh, hush. Just stay safe, Chirrut.” Baze mussed up his short hair like he used to do when they were kids. Chirrut had the strangest cowlicks when he didn’t brush it down just so, and Baze adored every one. It also made him laugh: another thing that never failed to lift Baze’s mood.

Chirrut grinned up at him, not lacking a certain mischief. “Okay, mama bear. Love you.”

One would think that after thirty-some years of hearing those words, they’d lose their shine, but Baze’s heart swelled nonetheless. “Love you too,” he called over his shoulder, and could feel Chirrut’s smile warming his back the whole way. If he were being honest with himself, Baze had no idea if he would've made it this far in life without Chirrut to keep him grounded.

 

He looked over his shoulder just in time to hear Chirrut hailing a dark haired human. She carried herself with a certain feral wariness, and Baze didn't think she was listening at first, but when Chirrut called out to her again, she broke away from her friend to look him up and down keenly.

 

Their exchange was brief, but powerful. From Chirrut, Baze sensed the same hunter's intensity as before, and she was regarding him with magnetic focus, every muscle taut. To Baze, it looked like they were moments away from either embracing like family or leaping at each other's throats, but before either could happen, the girl’s companion reappeared and dragged her off through the crowd.

 

For a flickering moment, she made eye contact with Baze over her shoulder, and it felt like a weighted punch in the sternum.  _ Well, this is it _ , he thought.  _ This is Chirrut’s star _ . He didn't know how he knew this, but a glance at the elated grin Chirrut was giving him confirmed that one way or another, they would end up following this girl and her friend across the galaxy if need be.

 

_ The strongest stars have hearts of kyber. _


End file.
